


The Grease on Your Hands

by wellthatsood



Category: Boardwalk Empire
Genre: Car Sex, Established Relationship, M/M, Oral Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-31
Updated: 2015-01-31
Packaged: 2018-03-09 19:26:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3261575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wellthatsood/pseuds/wellthatsood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charlie goes to visit Meyer and Benny at their garage; Meyer is disheveled and distracting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Grease on Your Hands

**Author's Note:**

  * For [notgrungybitchin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notgrungybitchin/gifts).



The shadows stretched over the sidewalk as Charlie jogged across the street. The days were growing longer, the sky staying a tinted pink later and later into the night. With the sun’s changes, a warm restlessness seemed to fill the city and seep into its bones. That, or maybe there was just something funny in the air besides the weather. It was Brooklyn, after all. You couldn’t be too sure. 

He didn’t make too many trips out that way. Most days, if Meyer or Benny went to the garage to work, Charlie watched over the games and waited for them to return. But something like cabin fever made him long for any sort of jaunt—even to Brooklyn. Besides, he didn’t like being left out for long. 

The garage, as he came to the right street, was a little building, with a brick front and a wide, gaping mouth into the interior. Through it, he could hear faint clinking and sudden bursts of laughter that were indisputably Benny. 

“You two gonna work all through the night?” Charlie asked, by way of announcing his presence, as he entered with some hesitation. The laughter stopped. There was some scuffling and Benny popped out from beneath a car on the right and clamored to his feet. 

“Why? You got somethin’ screwy under the hood that needs fixin’?” Benny retorted, waving a wrench in his direction. He brushed himself off and surveyed the garage, turning his back to Charlie. “Whaddya say, Mey? Want me to pry him open and take a look?” 

Charlie scowled and told Benny to fuck off, but he took a tentative step backwards nonetheless. Benny noticed and smirked. 

“Behave, both of you,” came Meyer’s voice, echoing off the windshield of a car on the other side of the garage. “Benny, put the wrench down,” he added without even looking over. “Charlie, why are you here?” 

Indignant, _because why shouldn’t he be there,_ Charlie removed his hat and hung it from some stranger’s hood ornament. He tried to make his presence feel natural, as he stepped farther into the garage. But his unease was apparent in the wide girth he gave Benny, who was smiling fiendishly and continuing to twirl the wrench in his hand. Charlie hoped he dropped it on his foot. 

“Just, wanted to see what was goin’ on?” Business was slow on a Wednesday evening, Charlie was tired of being cooped up, and worse, he felt like he’d barely seen Meyer all week. With a sour note, he tacked on, “But I can leave, if you like.” 

Meyer wouldn’t take the bait. “Bring me the oil from that table,” he said instead. So Charlie figured that meant he could stay—even if he had to earn his keep, so to speak. With some uncertainty, he wandered over to the table and picked up what, indeed, seemed to be a can of oil. He carried it over to Meyer, but stopped short. 

Meyer was bent over the car, examining its insides, an expression of deep concentration on his face. He was in his shirtsleeves, rolled up to his elbows, an apron thrown and tied carelessly overtop. The apron—and Meyer’s hands—were smeared with dark, thick grease. He turned to look at Charlie, catching his somewhat dumbfounded stare, with a smile quirking at the corners of his lips. 

“Have you never seen an engine before?” he teased, though they both knew it was hardly the engine drawing Charlie’s attention. Charlie responded with a low laugh, handing the oil to Meyer without another word. He had a number of things he’d _like_ to say, but Benny was still within earshot. 

“Just you wait,” Charlie murmured, nodding his head in the general direction of Benny, otherwise known as the only thing keeping him from putting his mouth over every inch of Meyer he could find. Judging by the faint clinking noise, and a pointedly heavy sigh, Benny had returned to work, with his usual frustration at whatever Charlie and Meyer were up to beyond his line of sight. 

Meyer—it seemed—had read both of their minds at once. “Benny?” he called out, both a question and a statement, something implicit in his tone, as only Meyer could manage. “The car for Mr. Shapiro is finished, yes?” 

He didn’t need to say much else. Charlie heard the wrench hit the ground. It clanged; Meyer’s hands clenched around the oil, but only for a second. A moment later, the wince was gone from his face, just as Benny appeared around the side of the car. He folded his arms, leaning against the car on Meyer’s other side. “You want me to bake him a cake while I’m at it? Or is droppin’ off his car good enough?” 

A smile flickered across Meyer’s face. “It’s a courtesy, Benny. Good for business. I’ll close up the garage and we can meet later.” Benny scowled; Charlie tried not to smile too broadly at his retreating back. 

However, by the time the engine noises faded from the garage, disappearing onto the street and leaving silence around them, Meyer had turned his attention back to the car. Charlie frowned. 

"Thought you was gettin' rid of him for a reason?" Charlie asked, shifting closer to Meyer, his hip against the front of the car and his voice lowered in a way he thought might be enticing. 

Meyer thrust the emptied can of oil into his hands. "I didn't _get rid_ of him, Charlie. It's an errand. It needs running." Charlie wouldn't push the matter; he knew how Meyer got when it came to Benny. There was always a hint of guilt lurking under the surface, that both of them were too scared to scratch. 

Instead, Charlie set the can on the floor and ran his hand through Meyer's hair, loosening the pomade’s hold even more than the sweat of hard work. "Then there's nothin' to worry about, huh?" he whispered, sliding closer. “If it’s just an errand?” 

Meyer sighed, agreed, and turned to peck Charlie's lips in a long-overdue greeting. "Shift," he ordered, closing the hood of the car. Charlie obeyed, and then resumed his post against it just as soon as he was able. He watched as Meyer crossed the garage, removed his apron, and hung it on a peg. He couldn’t stop his gaze from lingering on his dirtied, exposed forearms, at the bulge of rolled-up sleeve hugging the curve of muscle, and on Meyer's hands—Meyer's beautiful, sturdy hands—as he wiped them clean on a spare rag. 

"Again, you stare," Meyer noted, wry amusement across his face. Charlie tried to shrug, all casual, as though the sight of Meyer disheveled like that wasn't putting all kinds of thoughts in his head. As per usual, his attempts at nonchalance did not fool Meyer. "You're worth looking at too, perched on the hood like that," he added in a lowered voice. As Meyer neared, he stretched up onto the balls of his feet to kiss Charlie once more. 

Charlie's hands caught around his waist, holding Meyer to his chest, as he kissed him slowly. The scent of oil, sweat, Meyer's pomade, and the fresh warmth of the breeze blowing in from outside surrounded him, and he breathed all the more deeply as he and Meyer kissed with growing need. Charlie's hips twitched against him—instinct, really—and he felt Meyer's chuckle reverberate against his chest. 

"That didn't take much," Meyer teased, his mouth moving to suck Charlie's earlobe. 

He faltered a moment, the confession "ain't my fault you look good all tousled up" falling from his mouth before he could stop it. Meyer's lips moved down his neck; he made a noise of consideration, as though Charlie's words were a business proposition more than a compliment. Still, Charlie could tell he appreciated them—as Meyer nibbled along his collar and incited Charlie to unravel further. 

"Now you're just not—playin' fair," Charlie stammered. Meyer's hands were at his neck, brushing along the skin before prying lose the knot of his tie. 

" _I'm_ not? You're the one who still has all of his clothes on." 

Well, he had a point there. Charlie assisted by shrugging off his jacket as hurriedly as he could, tossing it aside with little regard. Meyer managed his tie, then his vest, and soon the both of them were embraced in only their shirtsleeves, pressing frantic kisses against each other's mouths. 

Charlie could have been content to stay that way—with fistfuls of Meyer’s shirt clenched in his hands, the warm pressure of his body, Meyer’s lips nipping at his own—but then Meyer pulled back, faint laughter replacing Charlie’s lips. “Your, uh—” Meyer hesitated, and gestured to Charlie’s crotch with another gentle laugh, “—it’s a little uncomfortable, pressing into me. I can only imagine what it’s like for you.” 

Charlie blushed and shifted, apologizing under his breath. He tried never to push Meyer or entice beyond kissing, unless Meyer was in the mood, but—Well, sometimes his body didn’t have the same ideas. There once was a time when he was grateful to feel it rise _regardless,_ but lately, it was becoming an inconvenience. “It don’t—Sorry—”

Meyer, however, seemed to have other plans for that particular evening. “Don’t apologize,” he said with a smirk. As Meyer’s fingers suddenly brushed the fabric of his pants, Charlie’s response vanished, his mouth dropping open in an undignified groan. “You make a good hood ornament,” Meyer teased, sliding his fingers upwards with a palm to follow. Charlie’s legs quivered as he collapsed back against the car. 

“I, uh, you—” 

Meyer laughed and spared him the response, leaning up to kiss him slow and teasing—mimicking with his lips the careful motions of his hand. Charlie nudged his hips forward; he wanted more, but he knew that being too eager would do him no favors. Meyer’s patience, he’d learned, could not be easily persuaded. However, when there was no change in pace, Charlie started getting desperate. “You gonna—do that all night?” He tried to sound aloof about it, but the breathlessness in his voice and the pink tinge spreading across his cheeks and ears made him seem anything but. 

Meyer gave him a cool glare and Charlie fell silent. “Would you prefer that I stop?” he asked, hand retracting. 

Charlie groaned and slumped back against the car. “Fuckin’ bastard…” 

“This isn’t much of an argument in your favor, you do realize?” Meyer turned away with a smirk, walking to the side table. For a moment, Charlie was worried he’d come back with a wrench or something equally dubious. But instead, Meyer set to tidying up his workspace, paying Charlie absolutely no attention whatsoever. 

A slew of curses ran through his mind, but Charlie kept his mouth shut this time. _Fine,_ if that’s the way Meyer wanted it. 

“I guess I’ll just finish myself off on the hood of this car, is that alright?” Charlie called over. He tried to open the front of his pants as noisily as possible. “Or maybe on the front seat? That won’t do nothin’ bad to the leather, will it?” 

“Don’t you dare,” Meyer growled. But Charlie grinned, spat in his hand, and stroked himself. He moaned loudly, more to get Meyer’s attention than from any real enjoyment—though it was good to finally feel _some_ friction. 

It worked. Meyer whipped around. “Hands off,” he ordered. Charlie just smirked and kept at it. Meyer repeated himself. 

“Sorry, Mey. You know me, once I get goin’…” He noticed a faint flush in Meyer’s cheeks and grinned to himself. But it wasn’t long before Meyer was back in control, walking towards Charlie with a look in his eyes that made him nervous and thrilled all at once. 

“If you’re determined to do this yourself, you could at least do the courtesy of letting me watch,” Meyer said, voice low and face set. He tilted his head, watching Charlie with a soft smile and that same dangerous gleam in his eyes. “Get back against the car—” Charlie obliged without hesitation, “—and spread your legs for me.” 

Somehow, this wasn’t what Charlie had in mind, but as usual, he wasn’t going to complain. The garage felt very humid very suddenly, and Charlie wished Meyer had managed to remove more of his clothes. But he didn’t dare stop to undress, not with Meyer watching him so fixedly. Charlie swallowed—had it always been so warm?—and rubbed his slick hand faster. 

But Meyer raised one finger into the air. “Slowly,” he ordered. Charlie whimpered, but he listened. “Just the tip.” 

He closed his eyes, fingers trembling as he circled them—slowly, _slowly,_ just the way Meyer wanted—around the tip of his cock. His fingers slipped through moisture. He whimpered again and fought the urge to finish himself quickly. Meyer wouldn’t stop him if he did, but that wasn’t the point. He _wanted_ to listen; it wouldn’t feel the same otherwise. 

But it was getting to be too much. The pace was too slow and his cock too sensitive. If it weren’t for the car, Charlie doubted he could even hold himself upright as his whole body trembled. “Mey,” he breathed, “ _please._ ” 

Meyer stepped closer, though he kept his hands behind his back, for comfort as much to indicate that it was all Charlie. “Please, what?” he asked, as though he didn’t know. 

Charlie grit his teeth, the desperation mounting. “ _Please,_ I gotta—Please let me—” He could feel the heat beneath his skin. He couldn’t _say_ it, not when he could barely talk, not in the strange garage on a stranger’s car. But Meyer moved closer still, until he was beside Charlie, leaning against his side. He stretched up, kissed Charlie’s cheek, and whispered, “Go ahead,” into his ear. 

With a laugh of relief, Charlie’s hand shot to the shaft of his cock, sliding as fast as he wanted. He moaned and slumped against Meyer, whose arms caught him around the waist. Charlie spread his legs wider on the floor, his heels firm in the concrete, rubbing himself faster and faster. 

“Go on, right on the floor,” Meyer coaxed, lips against the skin behind his ear. “I want to watch you finish. Go ahead.” 

Charlie’s hips bucked forward. With a grunt, he obeyed. He thrust into his hand, steadily slowing, until he relaxed back against Meyer and the car. “Very good,” Meyer said in his ear, before kissing him gently on the neck. Charlie laughed—shaky, but happy—and craned his neck to reach Meyer’s lips. They kissed briefly, until Charlie’s limbs regained some semblance of coordination. He stood and kissed Meyer properly, one hand cupping his cheek, the other dangling at his side. 

Meyer offered him an oil-soaked rag. “Why don’t you clean yourself up?” 

“You think of everything,” Charlie praised and offered him another kiss. He wiped his hand and tossed the rag atop the car. “What about you?” he asked Meyer, with a pointed downward glance. Sometimes Meyer was content to live vicariously through Charlie’s pleasure; sometimes he wasn’t. 

Meyer hesitated. He licked his lips. When he spoke, it sounded as though he were working hard to coax the words from his throat. “Seeing as you are… in something of a state, up against a beautiful car… Yes, I think that will be necessary.” 

Charlie laughed, kissed him, and without another word, sunk to his knees. He kissed the bulge in the fabric of Meyer’s pants, grinning all the while. He knelt between the car and Meyer, who braced his hands against the hood over Charlie’s head. 

“What’s more beautiful—me or the car?” Charlie asked, as he opened the front of Meyer’s pants. 

With a fond smile, Meyer replied, “You’re the one with the open mouth. I’m hardly going to say the car, am I?” 

Charlie laughed, as he lightly kissed the tip. If that was a compliment, he’d take it. Besides, all arguments had vanished from his mind, with Meyer’s beautiful cock pressed against his lips. “I guess so,” he agreed, as he opened his lips and slid them forward. Meyer shuddered above him. His hands clenched against the car as Charlie’s head bobbed forward and back, slow, the way Meyer liked it. 

He placed his hands against Meyer’s thighs and glanced up, watching him. He loved the way Meyer looked—eyes closed, lips pressed tight together, the heat slowly rising in his cheeks. In a moment of petulance, Charlie pulled back, flicking his tongue against the tip of Meyer’s cock— _see how he likes it._

“Oh, _fuck_ you,” Meyer hissed and Charlie grinned. 

“I love it when you talk dirty,” he teased and again swirled his tongue in slow circles. 

With a growl, Meyer thread his fingers through Charlie’s hair. “You—” 

“Me?” Charlie repeated with a smirk. But he wouldn’t leave Meyer waiting for long; he didn’t have the same amount of patience. Without hesitation, Charlie wrapped his lips around him once more, sucking Meyer into his mouth—as much as he could manage. But he had hands for the rest, of course. With Meyer’s fingers holding tight to his hair, coaxing him, Charlie quickened his pace with hurried bobs. 

He could feel the tremble in Meyer’s thighs, could hear his breath in quick pants, but that was all. He knew from experience what Meyer’s silence meant. It showed only on his face, in the tight squeeze of his eyes and indents on his lip where he bit down, in the flush creeping out from beneath his collar. Charlie was the noisy one, but Meyer, he just _felt._

Charlie moaned, coaxing him, his cheeks hollowed against Meyer’s cock. He heard a faint whimper, felt Meyer shudder, and then Charlie swallowed. He kept his lips tight against him, sucking gently, until Meyer was through. The tight grasp on his hair relaxed; instead, Meyer’s fingers moved gently against him, reorganizing his curls. 

There was a moment of silence between them, as Charlie leaned his head against Meyer’s leg, closing his eyes and enjoying the gentle caresses in his hair. He licked his lips, then heard Meyer chuckle. 

“What is it?” Charlie asked, glancing up. Meyer just shook his head, crouching until they were at eye level. He leaned forward and kissed Charlie slowly, for a moment. Their foreheads rest together as they sat on the floor of the garage. 

“You,” Meyer said, breathless. “You’re better than the car.” 


End file.
